


Uncontrollable Screams

by littlemisfit5290



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s11e05 Ghouli, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Season/Series 11 Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:33:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisfit5290/pseuds/littlemisfit5290
Summary: Based off speculation/rumors regarding "Ghouli" and the prompt "Wait. I didn’t mean that. Please, come back."Scully reflects. Serious angst.





	Uncontrollable Screams

“Please. Please…come back.”

Her voice doesn’t even sound like her own, but why would it. Nothing about today has felt remotely real. Not even in the morgue. The one place where the answers have always been in front of her to uncover, where she can weigh and measure and calculate, unveil the truth and cold, hard facts.

Now though, for the first time since her first Y incision, she feels the cold.

Cold, numb, lost, helpless. As helpless as he had been when Monica put him in her arms after she cut the cord. As helpless as he must have felt days, weeks, months, _years_ prior to tonight when he’d pointed the gun at his head.

That truth had been revealed to her before they put him on the autopsy table. She read the website and in a half hearted effort to distance herself, in a full hearted one to distance Mulder, dismissed the posts as fan fiction. She knew better though. She had the facts staring her in the face. Lab rat, emo kid. _I don’t want her to hurt, not because of my uncontrollable screaming._

An hour ago it had been her turn to scream. 

Seeing the blood, his, her’s, it started low in the back of her throat. Came out in a strangled, choked off cry that Mulder had heard from the other side of the house.   
  
He’d moved to kneel behind her, urged her through tears to stop her last ditch  _heneedshelpheneedshelp_  CPR that at this point was only cracking their son’s ribs. 

“We can’t help. We can’t help him. He’s gone, honey. He’s gone, he’s gone.”

She shook her head and held William tight, cursing God between prayers until the paramedics arrived. She cursed at them then, cried until one tried to give her a sedative. Mulder stepped in, insisted that wasn’t needed, wasn’t necessary. He had her. 

Had her as long as she woke up each night in a cold sweat remembering, rolling over to check him for lesions as he slept. How long now until that wolf arrived at the door for them.

The thought sent her down the hallway to vomit in the kitchen sink. Afterward, she insisted they follow the ambulance in their car.

Her badge, not the fact she’d given birth to him, is what grants her access to the hospital basement.  _Redheads feel pain more acutely._

So do barren medical doctors who have miracle babies and watch them die. So do physicist pathologist special agents who can’t save their partners from certain death at the end of the world. 

She shivers in her swivel seat. Wonders how long it would take staying in cold storage to go completely cold. To go more numb than she already is.

Hearing the door open she gets to her feet, using the edge of the metal table for support until Mulder slides his arm around her waist, holds her tight to his chest as she crumples. She hears his heart, then feels her own break to the point she couldn’t weigh it as one unit on the scale. For the first time in decades, the smell of formaldehyde makes her gag. 

She breaks their embrace and moves to leave, and knows he’s behind her but she can’t make herself slow down. Can’t look back at the face of another beautiful dark haired dark eyed man she can’t manage to save.

When she reaches the front desk she hears the beep of the metal detector but it doesn’t register. Nothing registers until she sees a mustached man in a suit, armed, advancing with his gun trained on her. 

Reaching for her Sig is muscle memory. Instinct. Fight or flight reflex that she wishes in the back of her stricken mind she could momentarily suppress.  w _eightless. non-existence. swirling. embrace. darkness._

The suit is a good shot though. It’s quick. Even without any doses of anesthetic she’s not feeling effects. She’s not feeling. Until…

“Please, Scully. Please.”

“I didn’t mean to, Mom. I’m here. Please. Come back.”


End file.
